The Stumbling Man
by Trixter82
Summary: Allan is a man stumbling his way through life. Oneshot about Allan, set during S2. AllanMarian nonship, spoilers up until mid S2 perhaps.


**_A/N: _So, this is an old fic, originally posted on the rh2006 forum, that I decided to repost here. It i s a oneshot set during S2, so spoilers up until like the middle of the season perhaps.**

**Black Allan is in the castle and meets the Nightwatchman basically. Allan/Marian non-ship.**

**The fic was betad by Lavenderdoll on rh2006. Huge thanx for that LD!! **

**Enjoy,  
Trix**

_**EDIT: Changed the content to the betad version 8/9 -08**_

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**The stumbling Man**

In the exact moment that a person stumbles, everything in her universe is completely and utterly focused on the _falling_. There is a limbo in which the stumbling person stands, a place where she doesn't stand and doesn't fall, and during a moment of swaggering unbalance, the sole purpose in her life all of a sudden becomes the struggle not to fall.

Everyone who has ever tripped over a stone or missed the last step of a staircase should know this feeling, and that makes it a perfect metaphor for the dubious hero of this short story. We could call him the Stumbling Man, but he would much prefer it if you just called him by the name of Allan-a-Dale. In his entire life, Allan had tried not to fall. It had never occurred to him that it might be wiser not to stumble in the first place, that kind of focused living was not in his nature. Thus his life had been a series of stumbling moments, never completely in balance and always on the verge of falling down.

Allan had got used to this way of life. He got used to fixing things as they came along rather than making wise choices. It had always worked for him, more or less. He had been a rogue and a trickster, committed petty crimes and talked his way out of it. He ran rather than stayed and fixed a situation, rather turn his back on a problem than solve it. No one expected much more of him, least of all himself.

And that was why it had been doomed, Allan-a-Dale thought, as he moved through the corridors of Nottingham Castle. It had been doomed all along. Indeed it had been amiable of Robin Hood to think that Allan could change his ways- to better himself. But he was an a-Dale. It was in his nature to stumble and struggle not to fall. Was it so strange then that he had ended up choosing himself over a cause? The thought made him stop for a while and push his palm to the stone wall, shutting his eyes while the sudden dizziness overcame him.

"It's fine," he said to the flickering torch on the wall. "I'm alright… Really…" He was a bit drunk and did what tipsy people sometimes do - using the drunkenness to behave just a little bit crazy and get away with it. The torch might not care if he was fine but he sure felt the need to reassure someone about it… or something. "I mean, what choice did I have?" he continued, and turned his eyes away from the blinding flame. "Robin just doesn't get it mind you… He thinks it is all so easy…"

The problem, he thought, the problem was that he had _wanted_ to change this time. For the first time in his life people had faith in him, but he had only ended up proving to himself and everyone else that he was the same spineless coward as always. Oh sure, he could find ways to _explain_ his actions, but it didn't make him any less of a traitor. It just didn't _excuse _anything. So what did he do now? Well, he tried not to fall obviously - he was the stumbling man after all. Robin had thrown him out so he shifted his body in the other direction in a vain attempt to regain some balance. This time he was Allan-a-Dale, Gisbourne's man. To be honest, he had a feeling that this was doomed as well, but it kept him on his feet for now. He just had to work it out as it came along. That usually worked reasonably well.

"I'm Guy of Gisbourne's man, I am," he mumbled with a voice that was coated with resentment.

A horse. Some silver coins. The power to say 'I'm Guy of Gisbourne's man'. Those were the benefits of treason. The price? Of that he was not so sure... Loneliness perhaps. A complete lack of self-respect. Lost friends. He had never wanted it to come to this. Robin was wrong, there was such a thing as harmless treason. It was the kind that never was revealed and didn't have any significant effect on the outcome. This one, however, had turned out to be not so harmless.

"Playing for both sides are you, Allan-a-Dale?"

Allan twitched at the sound of the unmistakeable female voice and peered into the corridor's gloomy darkness. The torch made a visual echo to his eyes and there was a bluish light spot in the way when he tried to make out the bearer of the vaguely accusing words. It had to be Lady Marian, but he held a faint hope that it wasn't.

"No use betting on a losing horse," he slurred. That was the brilliant insight of this drunken night, and he had made an effort to share it with anyone he came across.

"It is if the winning horse will bite you when it reaches the finishing line." Her voice was nearer now and he could see a body move towards him. Definitely Lady Marian then… Damn it. "I think it might be wise to help the losing horse in cases such as that, and make sure it _doesn't _lose"

"Yeah… Well, you know…" he grinned at her, deciding to try and lighten up the air between them. "Fancy meeting you in a place like this, Lady M? I'm not being funny but shouldn't you have a guard or something, chaperoning you around and all?"

She snorted. "They can try."

Allan's vision had cleared significantly now, even though the dimensions seemed a bit distorted and blurry and he swayed slightly when he shifted position to get a better view of his unexpected company. She was wearing pants, he realised, and had a mask clutched in her hand.

"The Night Watchman?" he said. "A bit risky, isn't it?"

"Why? Will you run and tell papa Guy?" She quirked her eye brow at him and he couldn't help but smile slightly. She was bold - you had to give her credit for that. And she didn't fear him, which meant… Allan tried to focus his thoughts… It had to mean _something_ anyway.

"I think papa Guy is better in the dark about this one," he said. It was odd, but a part of him was rather pleased to stand here with Marian. She was a link, he realised, a link to Robin and the outlaws. Little John. Will Scarlett. Djaq. Even Much… In a way, in fact in a painfully physical and very real way, he missed the gang terribly. "You know…" he continued and tried to steady himself through the ale fogs, "You know I didn't mean this to happen really… I never meant for it to be like this."

"Of course you didn't," she answered in a soft voice. "You meant for it to work. A treason is failed when it is found out, after all."

"No! I mean, I never meant for it to be a treason… I just…" Suddenly it felt deadly important to make Marian understand this, to get some sort of response from someone; something that wasn't anger. "Robin thinks it is so easy, you know," he tried. "He expects everyone to just do what he does and think like he does. But we're not the same, he might be in the forest now but we're not equal. Never was, never will be… and he thinks… he thinks idealism is enough. But _it's not_ you know. He can't just expect people to give their lives for an idea... Real life doesn't work like that. He just doesn't get it."

"I know."

"I mean… What?" It suddenly dawned on Allan that Marian didn't talk back, didn't look at him with disgust or rage. Instead her head was slightly tilted as she listened, and when she spoke, her words sounded like nothing short of an agreement.

"Shut your mouth Allan-a-Dale, or does Guy pay you so poorly you need to keep it open in order to catch a fly for dinner?" Marian said with a grin, then sighed and turned away from him. "Robin," she continued, "Robin isn't good at all the little shades of grey. He sees all the colours but not the nuances. He is a good man, forgiving, honest… But his view of the world leaves little space for ambiguity. If you are good, then you are good, if not… Well. He is extreme in that way, always has been."

"That king of his…" Allan said with the tone of voice that people use when they talk behind their co-workers' backs. "He thinks that king is so high and mighty, you know. He is just a king, not bloody God."

"He is a better king," Marian snapped. "Make no mistake, Allan. I understand your point of view but that doesn't mean I agree with it. You broke Robin's heart by betraying him like that, he trusted you."

"Yeah but he expected me to live and breathe for that king, for his king, his people, his gang works for his cause. But what about us, eh? There's a really big 'I' in Robin Hood, you know, and no Allan… 'We are Robin Hood' my a… Sorry…"

Marian smiled a little at this attempt to watch his language in front of a lady. She wasn't sure what to feel towards the man in front of her. A part of her wanted to despise him for betraying Robin, then yet another part of her felt a strange connection. They both played a double game, walked over thin ice that cracked dangerously below them. She knew about divided loyalties, knew that the world was painted in shades of grey rather than black and white, and he had made a choice not to give her or the camp away. That made him… well, he certainly wasn't _all _bad at least. And it felt nice to have someone on this side of the fence who knew what she was. With that said, she wouldn't have him bad-mouthing Robin.

"You expect him to understand what drives you but you have very little understanding for what drives him. It strikes me as rather selfish, Allan." she said.

"Yeah well, someone has to look after me too, you know… No one else does. I was being tortured… And what happens to me when this little human chess is over? We are pawns, people like me, we are nothing but pawns to the high and mighty. Who cares about a pawn once the game is over?"

"Robin does. Robin saved you from being hanged, he tried to save your brother even though he was a scoundrel, and he would have made sure you were looked after. But that is part of the problem, is it not? You don't trust people"

"Well… it's not like there has ever been anyone to trust before…"

They were silent for a while, watching each other in the shadows. Allan was notably drunk, he swaggered slightly and his eyes had made their way down to a spot some way below Marian's face, as if drawn there by a magnet. He was scared, she realised. In a way he was little more than a scared boy trying to keep himself afloat. And he had a point. Robin saw his men as little more than extensions of himself, they were as much a part of his cause as he was and it never occurred to him that these people might have a different view on things. His ideas were as natural to him as the sun and the moon, and no sane man would deny the moon. She gave Allan's chin a slight shuffle to force his eyes up to, well, eye level, and he withdrew slightly when he remembered who was standing before him. She had property of Robin Hood written all over her.

"Can't you tuck those in somehow? They will give you away," he mumbled and Marian blushed a deep red colour. She knew that he was right, she wasn't all that blind to the flaws in her costume, but the fact that he had the nerve to point it out… She had a feeling Robin might find a comment like that rather unforgivable, but then again Allan was already scraping the very bottom of Robin's list of friends.

"Do you mind that?" she said "Would you regret it if my true identity was to be revealed?"

"Well… Yeah. I guess I do"

"There you go then. You are not merely a pawn," she said with a crooked smile. "It's a choice, Allan, everything we do is a choice. You standing here is a choice. Not giving me away is a choice. You have chosen to betray Robin but chosen to betray Guy as well. Just remember that all choices come with a price, Allan, and make sure you are ready to pay it."

He nodded at her, barely able to take in her words but realised that they echoed those Robin had spoken to him. They sounded better coming for her, honest, kind - all in all, they seemed like less of a well-rehearsed homework. He felt so tired all of a sudden. There was no solid ground below his feet yet. As long as his hands were Gisbourne's hands and he had his heart in the forest, he was still a man stumbling through life. As they parted, Marian watched him make his way down the corridor, his body tumbling from one wall to the other. He was out of balance, stumbling his way ahead in order not to fall and she shook her head at the sight. Too much to drink, Allan-a-Dale, she thought, and then she scurried away before a guard caught the Nightwatchman idly musing in the castle corridors.

There is a limbo in which the stumbling person stands, a place where she doesn't stand and doesn't fall, and during a moment of swaggering unbalance, the sole purpose in her life all of a sudden becomes nothing but _the struggle not to fall_…


End file.
